


FFXIV Write 2020

by Kami_Megugu



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.0 spoilers, 5.3 spoilers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Canon Death, Dancing, F/M, FFxivWrite, FFxivWrite2020, Gen, M/M, Oral Sex, Platonic Cuddling, Sleepy Cuddles, Sparring, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26264251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_Megugu/pseuds/Kami_Megugu
Summary: So first time participating in this so hopefully I can keep up, most with probably be short and cover a smattering if characters and ideas. Format may be adjusted whenever I make my way off of mobile. Tags will be updated as I go/needed.
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Estinien Wyrmblood, Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, Ryne | Minfilia & Thancred Waters, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16
Collections: Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just kinda got caught back up in feels after 5.3 and hadn’t tried my hand at Emet yet so figured I’d give it a shot!

Day1: Crux

It was finally over. His end had come. If Hades was honest with himself, it was past time. The last few hundred years or so a slow march to this inevitable end. Golden eyes looked out at the meager crowd in front of him before focusing on the lone figure standing apart from the rest. He couldn’t resist a slight smirk. The torrent of emotions swirling through him carrying a mix of relief, sorrow, gratitude, and finality. 

He’d suspected whose fragmented soul the Warrior possessed, having seen brief glimpses of something more weakly shining past the sundered pieces. Azem. He knew now that it truly could not be anyone else, and oh how so fitting this final goodbye was. It would have been heartbreaking if anyone other than himself had the capacity to remember. Elidibus would be alone now, yet Emet-Selch could not care to occupy his final thoughts with that of his singular remaining brethren. He’d finally found Azem, and even in his own death that was all that mattered. 

Over the past millennia he had hoped to chance upon the sundered soul of his closest friend, never realizing how close they had become until recently. Never realizing how powerful they yet were seemingly in spite of their horribly mortal state. Yes, Azem had always been the crux of it all for him. From their days as a young trio in Amarout with Hythlodaeus, to all the times separated by the duties imposed on them by the convocation, to Hades’ own personal motivations through the summoning of Zodiark and his personal tempering. Simply knowing his friend’s soul had found a place in the fragmented world somehow yet carrying out the same impossible tasks brought an acceptance to the unsundered. If only they had remembered, if only he would have been able to show them.

“Remember us. Remember we once lived.”

Content, he welcomes the pull of the life stream finally letting go. Finally, at peace.


	2. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set Post Dragonsong War but before 4.0 really takes off. Light Tataru shenanigans, dancing, and the making of later plans. 
> 
> I saw this prompt and immediately thought of the song "Sway" specifically the Michael Bubble version. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit late but I wanted to finish this idea! Schedules can be a pain but hoping to finish and post each prompt I start!

The ballroom at the manor de Fortemps swirled with a mix of color and texture as attendees mingled and danced. In support of the new democracy all classes were encouraged to attend and thus, was the event specifically a masquerade to better blur the lines of society. Not altogether a bad strategy mused the Warrior of Light to themselves, although dress alone tended to give insight to the who's who.

She had kept mostly to herself this evening, preferring to hover on the sidelines out of the spotlight for once. A few had requested her hand for a dance, and she was agreeable to a polite few- namely those of the Fortemp or Haillenart surnames. The Warrior smiled as Alphinaud’s fluent schmoozing with nobility was interrupted by a rather forward young lady in asking him to dance resulting in a blush to rival his sister’s favorite color. He recovered smoothly in asking for her hand and escorting her smoothly to the ballroom floor.

“Precious isn’t it?”

She turns her smile down to Tataru, who also saw their friend's interaction. “Certainly, seems so rarely he gets to actually act his age. It’s good for him. She’s pretty too.”

Grinning like only a Lalafell could, “she’s not the only eye-catching one in attendance tonight. Why, I’m quite surprised I haven’t seen suitor after suitor lined up for your hand.”

Manicured nail taps against a full mask, “I’m far less recognizable thanks to your talented hands- not that I am complaining mind you.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Tataru sighs, “mask or no I’m sure you’d shun all who request even just a simple dance baring one exception that is.” Green eyes slip to the side to hold your own, “have you seen him yet?”

“No, surprisingly enough.”

With a humble tap to her chest, “allow me to remedy that,” And the most formidable Scion was off, diving fearlessly into the dizzying sea of silk and taffeta and velvet and chiffon with nary a regard for her comparatively diminished stature. 

The Warrior stared after her. She well knew who Tataru spoke of, how the woman even found out she would never know but she trusted her ability to aid in their discretion. It wasn’t that they wanted to keep their relationship secret, but two high profile individuals courting each other would certainly catch the interest of far too many uninvolved parties. She scanned the room once more, hoping to maybe feel or sense him out of the crowd. They’d previously agreed that with the nature of the masquerade it was likely safe to steal away a dance or two in each other's company (they were publicly friends after all), but despite being on near constant lookout for her elusive knight, he’d as of yet to appear and the hour beginning to grow late. 

A gentle brush to her arm draws her attention, eyes flashing ready to strike at the unexpected touch only to immediately soften. Despite the mask and his non-blue attire she’d recognize him anywhere. “Aymeric, you startled me,” the Warrior spoke, easily meeting his crystal blue gaze. She took a moment to take in the sight before her. The Lord Commander was dressed simply in all black, the ensemble relying on texture and material to set each piece apart. The apparel was well tailored to compliment his form from the fit of the full white mask, to heeled boots. The Warrior knew he was watching her, and likely conducting his own appraisal of her change of dress, something just risqué enough to startle the more conservative members of Ishgardian society and clearly inspired by outside fashion.

“If you knew it was me, why the inspection,” the blue knight inquired with a slight smile.

Smirking back, “Simply appreciating the lack of armor and excessive furs. It suits you.” She can’t tell if he is blushing or not with the mask in the way, yet his eyes crinkle with the sign of embarrassed affection she has learned to recognize.

“You flatter me.” The warrior watches his eyes roam her figure once more from head to toe, the dress far more fitted then her typical garb, revealing little yet implying much. “I presume I shall have to seek out Lady Tataru and thank her for the stunning visage before me,” he all but purrs, silken words smooth as ever. 

“As always. If I dressed myself I’d likely have attended in some form of armor.” The couple laughs as the orchestra begins the next song with a chorus of horns.

Aymeric looks at the Warrior with excitement extending his hand, “I wasn’t expecting this particular piece to be played, grant me the honor of a dance?”

She lightly grasps it following him to the floor. “I don’t think I’m familiar with this particular rhythm but I can follow easily enough.”

“Excellent,” he pulls her in close to him with a spin resting his other hand low on her back just above the swell of her hips as her arm finds its way to his un-pauldroned shoulder. “I must advise you that this particular dance is,” he clears his throat in a moment of hesitation, “this dance requires far more physical closeness between partners than others.

An eyebrow raises in question, “lead on.”

A percussive rhythm begins as the melody takes off. Aymeric keeps her close as they begin to move to the song, steps close and in sync. Overall it was far less complicated than some of the intricate steps Alphinaud tried to impress upon her yet the inevitable rock and sway of their bodies added a whole different depth to the dance. It also dawned on her it was the closest her and Aymeric had been in public.

He guided her across the ballroom, long legs nearly stepping between her own from their proximity and symmetry. The masked commander chuckles softly, “did you know this was always one of Hauchefant’s favorites to request at such events?”

“Not at all. But I can’t say I’m surprised, he’d likely take the opportunity to murmur terribly bawdy things into his partner’s ear.” They deftly turn around another couple yet keeping to the swing of the music.

“That is not inaccurate. His attempts were fairly justified, I must admit however, considering the arguably implicative lyrics which are now commonly omitted.”

“I’m intrigued, that doesn’t sound terribly Ishgarian.”

She can hear the smile in his voice, “let’s see if I can remember…” their dance settles into a less mobile rhythm and he pulls her closer yet each side to side oscillation between them one movement. His lips press close to her ear as to not be overheard, and in smooth timber he sings...

Other dancers may be on the floor  
Dear, but my eyes will see only you  
Only you have that magic technique  
When we sway I go weak

The music crescendos back into the refrain. Aymeric guides her to him as they begin their glide once again, growing more comfortable with the dance and each other, accentuating each step with a swing of the hips to the cadence.

I can hear the sounds of violins  
Long before it begins  
Make me thrill as only you know how  
Sway me smooth, sway me now

The Warrior spies his ears flushing pink as the Lord Commander finishes the line in a low voice. She smiles easily, “I never knew you could sing,” murmured into his chest with a light chuckle.

“I don’t often, but I did enjoy the lessons when I was younger, my mother always appreciated the musical arts. Actually, now that I think about it, there may be an orchestrion roll squirreled away somewhere in the manor of the piece in its entirety if you would care to listen perhaps with a nightcap?” 

“Is my lord inviting me over at uncouth hours of the night?,” the Warrior teased, already knowing what her answer would be.

“If I were, I do wonder what my Lady’s response would be?,” he teased back.

A wicked grin crosses her face, not that Aymeric can entirely see it considering their close proximity. “Well,” she begins, “a lady would need to know if she should ready a bag to stay overnight before giving her answer.” They had been dancing around this, so to speak, duty and responsibility ever calling them away from each other. 

She hears his breath catch slightly before speaking in a low rumble, “I would be wont to deny my Lady anything she desires, and I’d seek to satisfy all of her wishes to the best of my ability.”

“Seems as if we’ve an agreement, then, yes?”

The song reaches its conclusion and Aymeric steps back, releasing his hold on the warrior, yet delicately holding her hand. “I’d most certainly agree. I’ll seek you out later then? Save the final dance for me,” he requests, bending low in a bow to gingerly kiss the back of her hand. 

Blushing into a smile she whispers, “Always,” watching him take his leave, quickly reabsorbed back into the crowd. The Warrior directs her gaze back forward seeking a reprieve from the dance floor as another arrangement starts up, she needs a moment to still her racing heart. The surge of dancers parts, her chance for escape, through the now empty space she can clearly see Tataru waiting for her. Standing unashamedly on a chair, pink ruffles of her own attire cheerful against the Ishgardian jewel tones, giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up.


	3. Prompt 3: Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why but I pictured a small kid who has always heard how helpful WOL needing help with a fairly trivial task but maybe being intimidated by their reputation and armor and whatnot and trying to work up the nerve to ask them for help.

3: Muster

The marketplace in Revenants Toll was commonly busy, today bearing no exception. Adventurers, refugees, and civilians all out enjoying the pleasantly clear weather, a break from the aetheric gloom that typically sunk low over the settlement. She was outside playing with the other children when disaster struck. 

She had been playing near some of the awnings out of the way with another girl her age when a group of older kids came over. Her friend ran away leaving her alone, cornered and outnumbered. They took the doll she’d been playing with, throwing it on top of the shade covering. Out of reach, and nearly out of sight, the doll's fabric arm just barely hangs over the edge. She couldn’t reach it and didn’t see anyone to ask for help who wasn’t busy. The crush of people suddenly far more daunting than it had been earlier. Tears welled in her eyes as she squinted against the sun to spot her wayward toy once again.

It was one of the few things that was hers. A gift after they came to this town, she fondly remembered the woman who gave it to her. Always smiling and kind to the refugee children. She looked around again hoping to maybe spot a friendly looking grown up who could help her. There! That was the adventurer everyone was always talking about!

She hadn’t ever heard a bad word about them. They were good at protecting people and helping those in need. But she was little, they surely wouldn’t want her to bother them, and with all that armor they were more than a little intimidating. No. They were good! She knew it. Fists clenched tight, she mustered all the courage she could gather and walked over to the adventurer. She waited for them to finish talking with the other adult staring up at the weapon on their back. As they began to turn away she had to act! 

Gently tugging at a less harsh piece of armor, she stammered yelling louder than she intended, “Excuse me, Warrior!”

They turned looking for the source of the voice before feeling the tug on their armor once again directing their gaze down. They kneel to your level, smiling, “why hello there.”

“Can you help me?,” fighting back tears once again from the loss of their favorite toy and the intimidating yet kind adventurer knelt before them.

“Of course! What can I do for you.”

A small hand points up to the awning of the neighboring booth, “my doll...I can’t reach it. Please? If it’s not too much trouble?”

The Warrior makes a fist punching it into their other hand, nodding an affirmative. “Ah a rescue mission, I gladly accept.” They make their way to the booth, shuffling a few crates on top of each other in a sort of make-shift step, easily climbing up and reaching the doll. “It looks like the arm has torn,” they sit on the ground next to you. “Here, hold it just a second. I think I can fix it.” They rummage through their bag, bizzare assortment of trinkets and armor and supplies shoved aside in search. “Ah ha,” they wield a needle and thread victoriously, “if I may?”

You pass the doll back, you hope they can fix it. It’s but a few minutes of careful stitching and the arm is repaired good as new. “Another quest successfully completed if I say so myself!” Your doll is given back to you hale and whole.

“You beam happily. Thank you, Warrior! You really are as good as everyone says!”

Chucking, “glad to be of service, anything else I can help you with?”

You shake your head no, hugging your doll tight to your chest, your mom calls your name searching for you. “I gotta go! Bye!” You bound off with a wave, and a final look back. They’re smiling at you too, maybe the Warrior wasn’t so scary after all.


	4. Prompt 4: Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one as I catch up! I would love to see more interaction between Thancred and Ryne. I think their development is far deeper than we get to see and thought I’d go into maybe a small moment between the two of them. Pre-5.3 but spoilers for 5.0!

Prompt 4: Clinch

The sun beat down hot in Amh Araeng, heat shimmering across the landscape. Despite this two figures both in white could be seen reviewing combat forms. Long daggers in each hand the steps were fluid and precise, deadly to those on the wrong end of any would-be scuffle. They break, taking long drinks of cool water before getting back to it.

“Leave the daggers, I want to make sure you can defend yourself without if needed,” Thancred instructed concern furrowing his brow. He was trying to think of any and every little thing Ryne might need to know, he refused to risk leaving her ill prepared. The young girl rests the blades next to their canteens and walks back over to where Thancred is waiting. “Now, it is best to avoid any situation like this if you can. It is far too easy for someone larger or stronger than you to manipulate the fight if you are caught unawares. You remember what we did before if someone tries to grab you.?”

The Oracle nods seriously, explaining the ways she would attempt escape and demonstrating as requested. Her mentor smiles approvingly at her memory. 

“Good. Now, while your size may be a disadvantage, it can also be your greatest boon.” He walks over toward her. “Hit me.”

Grey blue eyes go wide, she makes a fist and hesitantly punches the armored scion before her.

“I’ve seen you hit harder than that, come on. I’ll be fine. Again.”

More force this time, but not enough. He nods, she pulls back tensing to strike once again.

“Freeze, stay just like that a moment.”

Ryne looks up.

“Look at how we are standing. This is why it’s important to make each blow you land count. You have to get close.” Thancred extends his own arm in demonstration, forearm extending well past Ryne’s shoulder. “The last few inches in the strike is what matters, just like your daggers. If I don’t have room to swing at you, you will inherently have the upper hand. Make sense?”

Timidly, slowly working the punch in and out, “I think so, but couldn’t you still grab me or get in other bits?”

“Absolutely, that’s why you have to move first. Get in close to clinch them, strike fast and strike hard. Knock their breath and run if you need.” He steps back placing his hand upon her head, their own sign of affection, “learning how to situate a fight and manipulate it’s variables is just as important as technique. Any questions?”

“No. That makes sense, although it will take some practice I think,” pinching the bottom of her chin in thought.

“Well, we shall work more on that tomorrow then. Should be enough for today, you’re doing well.”

Red hair and grey blue eyes smile unabashedly at him as she gathers their things. The pair walk back to the settlement, easy and relaxed.


	5. Prompt 5: Matter of Fact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WOL and G’Raha share feelings and thoughts on the Ancients and their own dealings with unexpected memories and filling the role given rather than what they chose. Not that this gets that deep but that was the original intention before I lost steam on it! 🤷♀️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Struggled with this one a bit weirdly enough, liked my idea but not in love with the execution, but- another prompt down! Slowly catching up as I have time :)

5: Matter of Fact

“It is a well accepted matter of fact that all things meet some sort of inevitable end. For most that does indeed mean death,” the red haired Miqo'te paused before continuing, “I know you’d have prefered things to have ended differently.” He swallows heavily, uncertain what else to say to bring comfort to his friend.

The pair were outside Revenants Toll, having found a more secluded spot to spar and had since taken a moment to relax, simply taking in the sight of the Crystal Tower with the setting of the sun. The Warrior merely hummed their agreement, listening but not entirely present in the moment. G’raha watched their usually stoic face flicker through a myriad of emotions, their eyes half glazed over seeing mayhaps another place, another time. “If there is ought I can do, you will let me know, yes? I can’t fathom the specifics of what you’re having to process but-,” he takes a moment to pause himself remembering a time so very long ago to him where he too struggled with holding fast to his identity lost to the whims of ancient magics. “But I am not unfamiliar with the overwhelming pressure of carrying a history, not exactly your own.”

“Thank you ‘Raha.”

He looks back to the tower, while not as attuned to it as he had been on the First he could still feel the pulse and hum of the structure, truth be told it was almost a source of comfort after so much time. 

“It’s weird,” the Warrior now choosing to speak interrupting his thoughts, “I feel nearly guilty having to stop Elidibus, even though little other choice was left.” They pause, almost shuddering with the deep breath they take in and exhale, leaning forward over their own knees, eyes yet distant. “More than that, the more I learn...I find myself missing Ha- Emet Selch.” G’raha’s eyes widened in slight surprise. “Can’t really describe why exactly, just have this sense that we were close before. Then. In Amarout I mean.”

“Truly? It would explain his passivity in aggression, certainly…” he lets his voice fade, as he thinks over their interactions with the deceased Ascian.

“I can’t remember. But it’s like my soul does, or some such. Anyway, it hardly matters now really. They’re gone. Doesn’t matter if it was inevitable or not, ‘‘twas by my hand, and I’m not sure how I feel about it anymore.”

Silence blanketed over them as the sun finished setting bringing night’s darkness.


	6. 9: Lush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3.0 Spoilers! Implied Aymeric/Estinien. 
> 
> Anticipating his confrontation against Nidhogg Estinien pays visit to Aymeric and his mind wanders...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skipped ahead to more current prompts, so posting order may be somewhat out of order.
> 
> Nothing terribly long for this one, not sure why I keep going for more feels-y/emotional directions with these but just rolling with it

9: Lush

It was snowing, as it tended to in Ishgard. Fluffy flakes piling high against the window sill before cascading down to the ground when the pile grew too tall, not terribly dissimilar from the length of white hair lying long across the Lord Commander’s lap. The manor de Borel was quiet, the house asleep and still in the dead of night save for the two souls who yet haunted the study. Estinien had returned from their venture to broker peace with Iceheart, and was now anxiously awaiting the completion of the mana cutters to face down Nidhogg. He and the Warrior of Light were anticipated to depart come morning.

The fire popped, and another log succumbed to ash. Aymeric yet immersed in reports and briefings, unwilling to leave aught til the next day. Azure dragoon chased inside from the cold, seeking the quiet comfort of easy companionship. The pair never offering definition or a label for their behavior, simplifying living and accepting. Estinien rested with his head atop Aymeric’s leg, someplace between awake and dreaming. Eyes closed he lets his consciousness roam, the subtle tug and pull of long fingers through his hair working out any lingering knots, a mental leash to the present. 

Venturing through the Dravanian forelands and surrounding areas reminded him of the past. Reminded him of a time before the calamity of the green fields and hills and forests that Coerthas used to be. He met Aymeric in such a setting, save that day the green plains were dyed red with the blood of their fallen comrades. Red like the skies of Ferndale the day Nidhogg struck. Red like the anger seething inside him, coiled tight and hot in his gut like a snake waiting to strike. 

Before everything he knew was reduced to cinders the town of his birth had been known for its lush pastures and farmland. Nothing terribly of note or excitement happened, the people taking comfort in the ebb and flow of daily life. Estinien could still picture the hilltop he’d taken his family’s karukal herd out to that final day. It had been one of his favorite vantage points, he could easily see for malms around, waist high grasses leaning in the wind, patches of flowers bright bursts of color amidst the endless green. He used to pick some for his mother when the opportunity presented itself. She’d set the stems in water save for three. Those she would take care to weave a single bud into her hair, his brothers, his own. Fingers scratched across his skull, tracing along a pointed ear. He sighed, hoping to clear the memories of smoke from his senses. He turned onto his side, face buried in soft wools, breathing deep. Parchment and ink and tea and syrup overwhelmed his senses, finally driving away the lingering stench of burning flesh and dragon fire.

“Estinien?”

He grunted something akin to an acknowledgement, arms now wrapping tight around his pillow’s slender waist, shoving his face in closer yet.

“Are you alright?”

“Memories, I’d sooner forget.”

Aymeric hummed in thought, trailing his hands through Estinien’s hair once again. “Shall we to bed? I think I’m finished for tonight and I believe you could do with some distracting.”

The azure dragoon didn’t vocally respond, rather simply sitting up and allowing himself to be led to more private quarters.


	7. 10:  Avail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of my previous post, and going NSFW! Aymeric decides to distract Estinien with some well deserved sexy times, emotional constipation and cuddling on the side. Set during 3.0, so spoilers if you're not there yet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late but another prompt written! Had fun with this one, but lost momentum towards the ending so may revisit later, we'll see! Also the longest piece I"ve written for the challenge, and one of the longer ones I've completed overall too!

10: Avail

Aymeric led Estinien upstairs to his chambers, the dragoon’s silent agreement in the soft padding of his bare feet. He knew his friend’s mind lay simultaneously in the past and on the ‘morrow, a brutal cycle of pain and promise he hoped to provide reprieve. He opens the door. The staff had well stoked his fire before retiring earlier in the night, and the room proved plenty warm for it. He held the door open, watching Estinien walk past him, head hung low, curtain of white hair obscuring much of his sharp features. Aymeric quietly closed the door, throwing the lock. 

He turned around, walking up behind a slightly taller dragoon. Aymeric trailed his fingers along Estinien’s arm, resting his forehead between the other man’s shoulders. What he would give to ease his burden. It clearly weighed heavy upon him that night. A question, breathed just loud enough to hear, “is there aught I can do to avail you?”

Deep timber, gruff from disuse responds, “not likely,” he fades off before speaking yet quieter, “you have my leave to attempt whatever distraction it was you had in mind however. I’ll not turn you away.”

Aymeric smiles against the cotton hiding muscled back, hands trailing with far more purpose seeking to begin work untucking, unbuttoning, undoing. He lifts his head pressing chaste kiss after kiss along tense neck up to his ear, pulling silvered hair aside, “undress and lie against the pillows please.” Estinien steps away, doing as asked.

He strips with efficient ease, comfortable and unashamed. The Lord Commander drinks in the sight. Sometimes when they shared nights like this things escalated quickly, need and desperation and want hastening actions and indulgence; other nights, such as this, there was a quiet acceptance and understanding between them. Physical intimacy becoming the language spoke when words would fail. Aymeric waited, watching Estinien settle upon the mattress, a large pile of pillows propping up his form, he drank in the sight ever appreciative. He was glad Estinien could relax so in his home, scarred and marred flesh lying in pale contrast to the deep blues and greys of the bedding. He’d left a knee up and bent, obscuring his private’s from Aymeric’s current vantage, a single arm flung across his face, shielding him from the light. It was only then, after mentally cataloging the image, that Aymeric moved beginning his own preparations. 

The knight dims and dampens candles and lamps, adding another log to the fire. He fills the basin on the nightstand with heated water from the hearth, placing a few washcloths within easy reach. It is then he removes his own apparel, the woolen shirt and trousers worn under his formal armor. In an equal state of undress he kneels on the bed, allowing the dip of his weight to alert the dragoon to his proximity. He lounges next to the sprawling figure, breath catching at unacknowledged beauty, finding peace in the even rise and fall of his companion’s breath. He swallows thickly, “Might I kiss you?”

Again, choosing to act instead of speak, Estinien drops his arm, hand now resting against Aymerics knee and leans up to meet his Lord. Their lips meet in the middle, a tender touch between supple and wind cracked. They part and rejoin, momentum a slow crescendo as lips part and tongues entwine. Aymeric tangles his hands once again in Estinien’s hair, gently tugging to pull him back to lying down against the pillows. He nips and kisses along the jaw's edge breathing his request, “let me take care of you.” The dragoon beneath him groans as lips begin to make their way down his body.

Aymeric takes his time, always touching, caressing, teasing using hands, lips, and tongue. Praying for safety and peace with each breath upon flesh, he slowly makes his way lower and lower. He feels Estinien’s breath quicken with each of his ministrations. It feels like an eternity before he finally reaches the dragoon’s cock, curving hard and weeping toward his stomach. Aymeric moves past it, breath ghosting along the length before he moves lower, pressing kisses along well toned thighs and calves instead, fingers massaging hard earned muscle. He allows the other’s hips to jerk in the slightest, reflexively seeking touch where he desires it the most. 

With a bite just harsh enough to mark the upper inside of the leg, crystal blue meets steel as the Lord Commander holds eye contact teasing just above aching length. He allows a small modicum of saliva to drip from his mouth over the member before him, twitching in anticipated interest. Estinien stares at him incredulously. Aymeric smiles before lowering raven haired head to timidly lick the pearlescent pre from the tip. Much the same as earlier, he slowly kisses his way down Estinien’s length, tenderly biting and suckling his heavy and full sack. He returns to the tip. Aymeric can tell how tense the man below him is in patience.

In one fell motion he descends, pining dragoon’s hips forcefully in place and taking as much of the cock before him into his mouth sucking the tender flesh. Estinien keens- head thrown shamelessly back, some broken sound ripped from his being, hands fisting into sheets with nearly enough force to tear. Aymeric slowly ascends, tongue laving once again at the weeping head, savoring the taste. Estinien panting above him. He repeats the action, less suddenly this time, settling into a steady bobbing rhythm. He continues tracing idle shapes and words into any and all bare skin he can reach, taking his time, steadily working his dearest lover into an aroused hazed. There is no rush to his actions, simply attentive persistence. Aymeric works to earn every sound and cry and moan with loving patience, granting the man his undivided attention. He only stops when lance-calloused fingers grip obsidian hair removing him from his place of worship.

“I’d see to your own pleasure as well as mine own,” roughly mumbled between yet gasping breaths.

They meet in a kiss once again. A wicked smirk across his face Aymeric reaches into the nightstand rummaging for a vial he knows to be inside. “I assure you, having you like this is pleasure enough for me,” he finds what he was looking for, setting the viscous liquid atop Estinien’s chest as he takes a moment to sit up. “However, if you feel so inclined, I would request assistance with appropriate preparation.” 

Estinien blushes at the implication. He’d never imagined that he would be blessed with the opportunity and regularity he shared Aymeric’s bed, yet alone the comfort and self-assured behavior the knight displayed at such actions. It was far beyond what he felt he deserved. “Turn around for me.” Aymeric quirks an eyebrow in question, before following the simple request. “Hands and knees above me,” he helps guide the other man into the position he has in mind. He’s caged now within Aymeric’s limbs, yet he has uninhibited access to the other’s most intimate parts. 

Estinien strokes Aymeric a moment, fondling his balls with his other hand with the hopes of encouraging him to drop any self-consciousness from the exposed position. The Lord Commander can’t restrain the blush across his chest and face, yet the moans he readily voices belay his appreciation of the attention. Knowing he would catch Aymeric unawares, Estinien plotted his revenge for the earlier teasing, much as he did enjoy it. He moves his hands to the glorious ass before him, gripping supple flesh to expose and bare. Estinien gather’s what saliva he can and licks a path from sack to taint to hole. Aymeric chokes some undignified noise, only remaining in place by the bruising grasp on him. 

With the selfsame focus he takes to the battlefield Estinien applies to the task before him. He well knows what Aymeric meant for him to do, however the filthy sounds from his target as he worked his tongue into the lord’s ass were well worth the effort. 

It took a focused effort for Aymeric to speak, such a contrast to his typical day. “-fury. Estinien. That is not necessary.” He cuts himself off with a low moan as a finger is added. 

Withdrawing his mouth in favor of proper lubrication, he retorts, “says you.” The slick oil spreads over his fingers as he slides a single digit in, then another. Calloused fingers work in and out, scissoring apart working to stretch tight muscle. He adds a third making sure to brush against the sweet spot inside. The sounds Aymeric makes are some of the most holy Estinien has ever heard. The pleasure and desire carried on honey voice only further fueling his own arousal. 

He takes his time continuing to work and drive the Lord Commander ever yet closer to the edge. His eyes have drifted shut as he just listens to the gasping man yet perched above him. Estinien’s idle thought is suddenly interrupted by Aymeric pulling away all but begging for him to stop. He does so immediately, concern furrowing his brow as he inquires if the other is okay.

Aymeric breathes heavily a moment, body tense, before turning back to face him. He smiles and kisses him gently once again. “I assure you I am quite alright, you had simply driven me far closer to completion than I had anticipated and I have other things I yet want to partake of,” pink dusts his ears at the admission, before picking up the momentarily forgotten vial. The stopper is removed, he pours the viscous liquid into his hand reaching to grasp and stroke the dragoon’s length coating it thoroughly. 

Estinien stares at Aymeric as the knight straddles him, taking a moment to line himself up before sinking down in a single steady motion until he rests fully upon Estinien’s hips, throaty moan accompanying the action. Estinien’s eyes flutter closed.

Pausing a moment, Aymeric simply breathes. He grants his body the opportunity to adjust to the splendid fullness he is experiencing. It wasn’t terribly frequent that they indulged in each other to this extent, yet every time was far more satisfying than he ever anticipated. With a look hungry enough to devour, he reaches forward and grasps the headboard for leverage. A quick peck to the lips below, and he sets his pace.

Steady, and even, he rolls his hips up to sharply snap back down. Aymeric takes full advantage of Estinien’s length riding from tip to base. He may spend most of his days trapped behind a desk but he has not neglected his own physical prowess, easily sustaining their rhythm. However, from their earlier attentions it’s not long before he cannot contain the plethora of sounds and praises from his lips. 

Estinien suddenly grips far tighter to Aymeric’s hips, encouraging harder actions seeking an even deeper point inside. From atop, Aymeric manages to piece together a hasty two words, “you’re close?”

Azure dragoon too far gone for words simply nods his assent, arching further into the knight above him. He gasps, and with a deep groan snaps harshly into Aymeric hitting that blessed spot he worked earlier, as he comes. The feeling of completion inside of him and the pressure once again focused on his prostate pushes Aymeric over the edge, following Estinien into orgasm. 

It is quiet the handful of minutes after, save for the crackling of the fire and slowly calming breaths. Estinien’s grip relaxed and he rubs his hands across Aymeric’s thighs. A quiet mumble finally breaks the silence as he opens his eyes and looks up to the Lord Commander, “Aymeric.”

Crystal blue peaks open, comfortable meeting the open and bare look below. “adequately distracted?”

“Seven hells, Aymeric. That was…” he doesn’t complete the thought mind yet lax in the yet lingering haze of pleasure. He looks down at himself, taking in the absolute mess across his chest before redirecting his gaze up looking above him where Aymeric yet holds the headboard, piecing together the implication. “Fury, did you not need to touch yourself?”

Aymeric flushes crimson, and turns away reaching to dampen a cloth to clean them both up. “It was unnecessary,” he timidly responds somewhat embarrassed by the extent the other man managed to work him up. “We should sleep.” Estinien is still simply watching him, eyes slightly widened, but body relaxed and (he hoped) mind at ease. Lord Commander carefully cleans up his spend and any other mess, taking care to be thorough ‘less either wakes to be less than clean. He discards then used washcloths to the hamper, stepping back into his smalls.

Estinien is already half asleep. The dragoon would hardly ask for it, but Aymeric knew this was one of the more effective and enjoyable ways to help his friend take his rest. “Scoot, and get under the covers.” An eye peaks open before complying, holding the heavy duvet open for Aymeric to join him. Sinewy arms wrap around Aymeric pulling him tight against the other’s chest, a leg thrown over hip. If the knight needed to escape for whatever reason it would be with a fight, not that it would be necessary. If their physical rendezvous was rare, cuddling was rarer yet. He would absolutely not complain, and never breathe a word.

Estinien nuzzles his head into Aymeric’s raven hair, inhaling the scent of shampoo. He would take tonight, a single eve of solace before facing his biggest foe. Clinging tight one more night to that which he shall never admit to for fear of losing him, steeling himself for the horrors he will face come the morning.


	8. 11: Ultracrepidarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saw the definition for this one and thought of Alphinaud, and who better to call him out than Alisaie? Ambiguous WoL enables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and somewhat sweet! Had an idea and knocked it out. :)

11: Ultracrepidarian

“Gods,” groans Alisaie as she slouches lower yet in her chair, WoL looking her way in concern. There’s a meeting or some such the pair are supposed to be listening to, yet neither is. They’re at the Rising Stones yet relaxing, at Krile’s insistence. “Want to take bets on if Alpninaud actually knows what he is talking about this time?” the far more restless twin questions. 

Chuckling into their tea to hide their reaction WoL whispers back, “I honestly think he at least partially does this time, however I would default to your judgement, and the offended face Y’Shtola’s making at his last comment.”

“He certainly isn’t ignorant on the matter, I will admit that much. I understand the basics even, yet this goes far beyond what any of our training would have covered. And if the Archons are unsure why the hells would my brother know any better!?”

The WoL simply nods, knowing better than to continue encouraging Alisaie unless they wish to begin attracting attention. However she continues unhindered and uncaring, “All this sitting and talking is driving me insane. Maybe I should start trying to act smart like Alphinaud. I know excessively large and obscure words too, I’ll have you know.”

The WoL smirks, they can tell that some of the senior Scions are beginning to take notice of their waning attention, Thancred notably shooting the pair a questioning look. The red mage’s distractibility is rubbing off for the moment, and they do love to see the other twin brought to a blush in good humor. They all could still benefit from a laugh, and a classic Levillure outburst typically does the trick. Ready to fan the flames they interrupt Alisaie’s present rant, “Example.”

“-What?”

“Give me an example. Big Alphinaud worthy word. Go.”

A wicked grin spreads across her young face, ready to bring an end to the discussion and her brother. She stands quick enough to upend the chair, hands slamming into the table demanding the attention of all those who’ll give it. “Alphinaud. For the love of the twelve, would you please stop your ultracrepidarian rambling. It’s putting me to sleep.” She turns to you, levin crackling behind her eyes giving a half bow in victory before sauntering to the door, “I’ll be at the training dummies.” The door closes loudly in her wake.


	9. 17: Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2.0 spoilers! Typically Aymeric is the one comforting Estinien from nightmares, but tonight the role is reversed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late and hopping around order but oh well! Had the idea of dreams fading away when we wake and it sorta evolved away from that but managed to still slip the word itself in!

No one had ever ventured to claim Estinien was a deep sleeper. Time and training had conditioned him to wake at seemingly minor disturbances, to always be ready to fight or flee. This was an entirely new scenario. Yet, more than ever he was thankful for the shallowness of his slumber.

The first few days after the vault, the heavy weariness of physical exhaustion and recovery kept Aymeric sleeping relatively soundly. Estinien only woke when quiet gasps and moans of pain sounded from the sleeping Commander. He didn’t mind being woken, far better to wake and speed along Aymeric’s recovery with what succor he could offer, than sleep through the other’s discomfort. This night though was different.

It wasn’t the ever dulcet tones of his bedmate’s voice that roused him, rather the restlessness of the normally peaceful sleeper that did it. Estinien’s eyes snapped open at the abnormality, yet he carefully held the rest of his body still and his breathing even. He could feel Aymeric tense and twist against the pressure of the dragon’s arm draped over his torso.

“Aymeric.” Gruff voice gently breaking the night, concern dripping from the edges. “Aymeric, what’s wrong?” A question met with silence.

Estinien props himself up on his other arm to gain a better look at his companion. Midnight black locks stick with sweat to pale skin, brows deeply furrowed, lips pulled right into a wince. Aymeric tenses again, almost as if bracing for a blow, Estinien easily recognizes such reflex now that he is watching intently. He feels the Lord’s breath leave him in a rush as he once again releases the tension only to be quickly gasped back. He rests a calloused hand on the yet sleeping man’s chest, feeling the dampness seeping through. His mind flails as he tries to discern what to do. 

The roles are switched, so often was it Aymeric comforting him from nightmares, horrible visions staking his sleep. Never before had he bore witness to the other suffering through night terrors of his own. Aymeric almost always woke him, gently, reassuringly, his presence an unacknowledged comfort and ground for him to open his eyes to. He wanted to do the same. He needed to. He could only imagine the horrors the other had faced in the vault.

Aymeric’s breathing below him was growing faster, nearly panting. Estinien gently rubs his chest, long languid movements hoping to ease the tension and rising panic. Silver hair mixes with black as he leans down to the others ear. 

“Aymeric, wake up. ‘Tis just a dream, I’m the only one here with you. You’re safe.”

The only response is a slight wimpier.

“Take a deep breath for me,” Estinien nearly begs trying to keep his own rising panic from his voice. A soft kiss to cheek dampened with tears. “Aym, please, wake for me. Let me take this from you.” No one else ever privy to the emotion and care causing his voice to break.

His hand rises and falls. Deeper breaths, but no less calm yet. He continues his ministrations. “Aymeric, you’re at home. I’m with you. Just wake up and it’ll be okay.” He’s speaking quietly into the other’s ear. His own face is buried in raven locks.

A choked cry breaks the near silence. The body pressed half under his own shudders, “I’ve got you Aymeric. It’s alright.” He feels a vice like grip upon his arm as Aymeric full awakes.

“Estinien?”

“Aye, I’m here. You’re alright.” He keeps his speech short and to the point as he fights against the pricking of tears threatening to fall from the relief of waking Aymeric. “You were dreaming,” the dragon finally gets out while pulling the commander closer to himself. 

A heavy sigh, “the vault...I...it…” the usually eloquent Lord struggles with his words, mind yet caught in the memories that he’d been reliving. 

“Shhhh, I know.”

“I’m sorr-“

“Do not apologize,” Estinien interrupts, arm tightening once again around the other, “Fury knows how many nights I’ve woken you the same. Nothing to apologize for.” He pauses for a breath, voice gentling once again, “just breathe for me, okay? Nothing else matters right now.”

Finally relaxing Aymeric mumbles a quiet, “thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for either you fool. I’d not leave you to face this alone.”

Silence and stillness settles over the pair once more. Pressed closely together, breaths synchronizing, Estinien begins to drift back to sleep.

“Estinien? Are you still awake?,” quietly asked into the dark.

Between awake and asleep the dragon mumbles out a single, “Aye.”

“You don’t sound awake,” he can hear a slight smile teasing the others mouth.

“I’m awake enough. Do you wish to stay up some?”

An affirmative hum rumbles from the warm body in front of him. “Not if it’ll deny you your own rest though.”

Sleepily nuzzling into the junction of neck and shoulder, Estinien presses a chaste kiss to the sliver of visible skin. Pale flesh above obscured by dark hair, firm muscle below hidden beneath bandage. “Set the kettle on, I’ll draw us a bath.” He sits up, and walks around the bed offering a hand, finally meeting Aymeric’s ice blue eyes, “I’ll listen if you want to talk, if you’d rather let the memories fade that’s fine too.”


	10. 22: Argy-Bargy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2.X Spoilers! WoL is requested back to Ishgard, a nervous Aymeric has a request of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambiguous WoL and awkward Aymeric, I blame restoration for keeping my brain so stuck here, not that I’m complaining :)

You were leaning up against the stone wall, wary of the cacophony of noise emanating from the door across you. Were all House sessions this enthused? The ruckus took a turn for the angry, and you began reaching for your weapon, prepared to step in and end whatever conflict was surely arising. A slow step toward the door, another. Finally an all to familiar voice barely breaks above the rest with an echoing, “Enough!” Then, silence.

You stepped back, resuming your arduous task of holding the wall up. A few moments of quiet passed, before a murmuring din began to rise and the doors opened with a creek. Groups of nobility and common alike began to exit, many yet chattering amidst themselves. You were not sure what the topic of discussion was for today but it seemed to certainly be a weighty one judging by the creased brows and hushed tones. You waited patiently, the ebb of politickers slowing.

You spot a familiar face, and you smile warmly as the young Count de Fortemp pauses conversation long enough to greet you before apologizing as he is swept along with the crowd promising plans for a catch up over a cup of tea or mug of cocoa.

Finally, you are able to peek into the amphitheater before you. Harboring little interest in actually entering the political arena you were yet content to spy what you could from your already established vantage point. A glint of silver and red reflected the light from the high windows as Lucia surveyed the room from her place to the Lord Speaker and Commander’s side. She spots you, ever observant, and nods her acknowledgment of your presence. It’s easy enough to assume why you’re here. She shoots you a look of trying patience as the nobleman chattering at Aymeric continues on.

Not entirely familiar with the colors of all the noble houses your best guess would be a minor Lord if House Dzemael. They had thus far been the most resistant to the changes Ishgard was undergoing and it seemed that the Speaker was now catching an earful for it. To his credit, however, Aymeric took it in stride, listening as intently as he could. The poor man makes an honest effort to hear his compatriot’s complaints out, before eventually speaking up in a disarming tone.

“My Lord, I’ve said before and I’ll repeat it again. My role here is not to decree the final decisions, simply facilitate the discussions necessary for everyone to come together and make a united decision that will be best for Ishgard as a whole. If you have an issue with a subject matter then I urge you to speak up during the appropriate times during the sessions. There is frankly little and less I can personally do, or would do to sway votes. This is a republic, and we are adapting.”

The Lord simply scowled with enough force you could clearly see his displeasure from here before sharply turning on his heel, grumbling a curt “by your leave” and stalking from the room, heeled boots echoing.

You look back to the pair remaining. You are in no rush and quite content to wait, the last you’d want to do is add to the burden. A small smile graces your face as you watch Aymeric finally drop the mask of the Lord Speaker. His posture relaxes as he sighs heavily, eyes closing briefly likely in an attempt to minimize a brewing headache. Lucia is speaking, quiet enough you hardly hear, reviewing the tasks remaining for the day. He nods in understanding before running a hand through already tousled hair. 

Less than observant in this moment, he’s yet to catch you watching. (Thank the twelve for Lucia ‘less he takes another knife to the gut.) It’s not until they’re exiting the meeting room that he looks up from the floor, stopping in his tracks for a moment, somewhat startled at your sudden presence. You think you see Lucia stifling a chuckle from the corner of your eye. 

Grinning madly you bow in greeting, “Lord Commander,” standing quickly fingers pressed to chin in mock thought, “or would Lord Speaker be more appropriate today? I could even be persuaded to a Viscount de Borel or a Lord of Lords I supposed, but that last one may be pushing it.”

He is smiling now, one of the genuine kinds that light up his entire too beautiful face, crystal eyes nearly glowing. “Just Aymeric, please,‘less you’d like me to begin reciting your own much lengthier list of accolades.”

“Nope.” You push off the wall, so that the three of you may continue walking.

Falling into easy conversation you begin to make your way back to the Congregation. “I didn’t realize you had returned to the city, when did you arrive?”

You shrug “I got here about a quarter bell before the conclusion of the argy-bargy back there.” You see him smiling at your descriptive word choice for the government meetings, “as to the why, I was rather hoping you’d answer that. Tataru pinged me earlier,” you continue tapping the linkpearl tucked into your ear, “that a missive had arrived for me from Ishgard. Seeing as I was closer to here than there I figured I’d just stop by.”

“Oh.”

You see his ears pink ever so slightly although it could be from the chill breeze characteristic to the city.

“Lucia-“

“I’ll be inside, Ser,” with a salute to him and a nod to you, she dismisses herself.

“‘Just Aymeric’,” playing back to earlier, “is everything alright?” Worry now beginning to wrap itself around you.

He meets your gaze with a small smile, “Quite, ‘twas simply a personal request I had penned rather than that of favor to the city or her people.” The usually so composed Commander seemed nearly bashful as the two of you conversed in the open area outside the Congregation. “I’m sorry I’m not sure why I’m more flustered now than I was writing the invitation.”

You reach out and brush your hand for a moment on his arm, “just me, nothing *too* scary here.”

A moment passes before you withdraw and he clears his throat to continue. “I was simply wishing to see if you would care to join me again for a meal as the last was interrupted.” A pause before nerves clearly set back in and his speech begins to rush, “please feel no obligation if you are busy, or have not interest-“

Taking his arm again you cut him off, warm affection in your eyes, “I’d love to, Aymeric.” You watch the relief relax his expression once more, “when were you thinking?”

“Tonight? If that’s not too hasty. We’re nearly concluded for the day and I could walk with you from the Fortemps?”

“Sounds lovely.”

He smiles once more before bowing deeply to take his leave, “I will see you tonight then.”


End file.
